Chapter 177
The king's words send ripples of shock through the room.
"Your Majesty, no—"
"Your Majesty—"
"Your Majesty!"
They speak over each other, voices rising, overlapping, desperate. The councilors surge forward like a wave, hands outstretched, faces pale.
"ENOUGH!" The king yells.
Silence crashes down like a physical weight.
No one moves. No one breathes. The marble floor gleams under the chandeliers, reflecting the frozen tableau of nobles and officials caught mid-protest.
The king stands in the center of the room, chest heaving, face flushed. His hands are shaking—whether from rage or exhaustion, no one can tell. His crown sits slightly askew, knocked loose by the force of his own fury.
"I said enough."
The councilors shrink back. Some lower their eyes. Others stare at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but at the man who holds their futures in his hands.
Russell steps forward. His voice is measured, careful. "Father, perhaps we should discuss this further—"
